He gives me one of those Hawaiian salutes, thumb and pinky extended from his fist, and waggles it. “You know it, step-bro.”
I turn to Molly. “Let’s take you home now.”
“You’re going to drive me back?” she says.
“Yep. I’m your personal chauffeur tonight.” I help her up.
“Oh, goodie.” She wobbles a little and then collapses against me. Her curves crush against my side, and my mouth dries. She’s slightly sweaty and smells like alcohol. But she fits perfectly against me, and her softness says she’s not a kid.
She’s only twenty-one. I’m almost thirty. I have no business feeling these hot zings through my body. Georgia would’ve never asked me to take her best friend home if she knew the kind of unholy thoughts going through my mind.
As I escort her out of the bar, she slurs, “Good night!” to a bunch of people along the way. Many of them have to have hugs and confused farewells before she leaves. They probably came here to celebrate her birthday, but are too drunk now to remember.
Finally, we exit the bar. The night air couldn’t feel sweeter. Molly sways along, her sweet little body pressed against me. Silently reciting the Lord’s Prayer—which doesn’t do much to distract me—I help her climb into the car, then get behind the wheel. She blinks a little.
“This is a real nice car,” she says with awe, sliding her fingertips along the leather seat and dashboard. “Aren’t you worried I might puke?”
“Feel that bad?” Concern roughens my voice. “You need a doctor or something?”
She giggles. “No. I’m fine.”
We’ll see. I should keep an eye on her. I’ll never forget the group stomach-pumping incident back in college when a bunch of juniors overdrank. I start the engine.
“Do you know where I live?”
Sigh.“Yes. I helped Georgia move, remember?” I also carried tons of boxes for Molly because she was moving alone. For some reason, her father is never available to help. She was apologetic at first, then thanked me profusely. She made me and Georgia a quick chicken and veggie stir-fry for dinner. I couldn’t remember the last time somebody cooked for me. And it was the best meal I’d had in forever. Something about Molly’s home cooking will beat a Michelin three-star restaurant every time.
She yawns and stretches. “I thought maybe you forgot.”
I remember everything about you. Memories accumulate. Each one is different, but they all make me smile with affection.
She makes a small noise deep in her throat and closes her eyes.
“Let me know if you aren’t feeling well,” I say as I maneuver the car gently through the traffic.
“Don’t worry. Not gonna throw up in your car. Can’t afford to clean it.”
“I don’t care about the car. I’m worried about you.”
She looks like she’s fallen asleep. “Thought I’d feel different when I was twenty-one, but it’s pretty much the same,” she murmurs.
“Yeah? What did you expect to feel?”
“More… I dunno. Adult? With some clear idea about how to get what I want?”
“What do you want?” Maybe I’ll get it for her.
She grows silent again. “Wish Mom were here.”
Confusion and sympathy fleet through me—Molly’s mom passed away when she was just a kid.
“But she’s gone, so…” She sighs. “I wish I could have someone who loves me the way I am,” she mumbles, more to herself than me.
“Everyone loves you the way you are.” I hate the resignation in her voice. Molly’s normally bright, and she would never drop her guard long enough to show me a glimpse of her vulnerability if she were sober.
“Really?” Her tone says,No way.
“Uh-huh.”
